


Spell Breaker

by habenaria_radiata



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Intercrural Sex, Of the 'demons made them do it' variety, PWP, Septentrione Arc, Sex Pollen, Smut, Vaginal Sex, handjob, top pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: A poorly timed encounter with Lilith leaves Chief Hotsuin in an extremely compromising position.Fortunately, his favorite tactician has the means to cure that which ails him.





	Spell Breaker

**Author's Note:**

> Posting just in time for Hibiki's birthday. Happy birthday, Hibiki! ♥
> 
> Many, many thanks to Cinereous and Wingblade, both of whom were kind enough to beta this fic for me. Cinereous generously allowed me to use some of the descriptions she suggested.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

He only had to make it to his office.  
  
He sucked a ragged, papery breath between his teeth and pressed his forehead tighter to the elevator wall that currently offered his only modicum of comfort. It was a manageable distance. He could make use of a convenient side hall and reach the sanctity of his office without even having to cut through the command center.  
  
Another throb of his pulse burned in his gut, and agony radiated to the tips of every limb. Yamato grit his teeth hard enough to crack porcelain. He could make it. He could make it.  
  
He scarcely felt it when the elevator glided to a stop. The instant the doors slid open, he peeled himself away from the cool metal walls and lurched out into the hallway, his fingers clawed savagely into his coat and keeping it pinched shut over his lap. Every step was fucking brutal, a fresh, stinging humiliation that rocketed up from the balls of his feet to burn at the top of his skull. How could he possibly have been brought so low by some perverse harridan with a snake?  
  
"Oh-" A voice froze him in his tracks. He stopped, one hand spread wide across the wall to support his weight and the other still digging into his gut as if he might reach in and begin unspooling his intestines. It was the taller of the two obnoxious red-heads who stood before him, staring at him from her higher vantage and cocking her head. "Hey, Yamato."  
  
He curled his lip at her. Even being forced to half-bend into a pained sort of hunch could hardly hope to prevent him from sneering down his nose at someone else. "Go away."  
  
It was almost insulting that Kujou actually looked surprised by his rebuke. Her pale face pulled into a scowl, and she drew her arms into a tight cross against her ribs. "Well, you don't have to be a dick about it."  
  
"You're right. I'm choosing to."  
  
Ignoring her, he edged away from the wall and pressed on. This mess was entirely his fault. He ought to have known better than to engage with Lilith. It was pointless. She wasn't a Septentrione. She was merely another demonic temptress content to toy with a bunch of base male specimens he could not possibly care less about. It was a foolish trifle, and now he was honoring a price he hadn’t been prepared to pay.  
  
He was so close. His door was within sight. Yamato swallowed the flood of blood and bile pooling in his mouth and pressed harder, his hand outstretched and curling towards the handle.  
  
"Hey, Chief."  
  
Rage hissed inside his gut, a burning steam that curled the inner lining of his stomach like stripped paint. " _What_."  
  
Ah. Kanno. She stared at him balefully. For once, he was eye-level with her -- all the better to appreciate her disdain, he supposed. He could admit that his impatience was, perhaps, a little premature. She was among the few he actually wanted to see.  
  
Drawing a slow, level breath through his nose, Yamato lifted himself just a few centimeters higher, summoning as much of his dignity as he could muster. "...I apologize. I need you to find a countermeasure for Lilith's charm abilities immediately."  
  
She did not snap to attention like Sako would have. Why he’d even wasted the brain cells to spare a passing fancy to the idea that she _might_ was beyond him. Rather, he watched the slow lift of her eyebrows. The higher they raised, the more his good will began to drain like a lanced wound. By the time they reached her hairline, Yamato was glowering at her openly, but she was as unfazed by his annoyance as she ever was. "Wow. You encountered Lilith, huh? Can I take some samples first?"  
  
How utterly appalling. Yamato's hand shifted from his stomach to clutch at his sternum in his outrage. "You absolutely may not. Go find a remedy. Now."  
  
"Fine, fine."  
  
She wandered away with a swish of her coat, leaving him to sag against his door and not looking the faintest bit sorry about it.  
  
He was surrounded by miscreants.  
  
Yamato gnashed his teeth and shoved the door open with his shoulder, fleeing inside of it and kicking it shut behind him. Given his unenviable spate of luck as of late, he half expected to see an agent waiting in his office for no other reason than to stretch his misery just a little further. Braced himself for it, even.  
  
But there was no one.  
  
Good. God help the next person who saw fit to interrupt him. Perhaps then, he wouldn’t be the only one suffering.  
  
Yamato collapsed behind his desk and tore his gloves off, throwing them across the shiny surface of his desk and flinging sweat from the tips of his fingers. He would roast alive in this damn jacket, he was sure of it. It struck him as entirely absurd that Dante would dare to claim those punished for lust should be buffeted by mere winds. The second circle of hell obviously ought to have been swapped with the sixth.  
  
Fire was what consumed him. His feet burned in the confines of his boots. His legs itched and stung with the sweat collecting beneath his clothes, his face awash in fever and pain. He could remain like that. Sit enkindled within his own skin, his epitaph written in ash by the mother of all damned. He could wait and even entertain the idea of praying for Kanno to present him with an antidote, but relying on her to return within any kind of meaningful time frame seemed a fool's errand. He could, perhaps, go to Yanagiya for medical assistance, but pure shame kept him firmly affixed to his chair.  
  
He did not want _help_. He wanted...relief. He wanted not to have been such a simpleton in the first place. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that he was going to divine the secret of time travel any time soon. For now, all he had at his disposal was a shaky hand and a closed door.  
  
He bit his lip hard enough to pierce and let go of the slacks gathered tightly into his fist. His erection was unbearable, selfishly withholding so much of his blood that hypoxia seemed imminent.  
  
With a brutish, almost ferally angry grip, his hand shot high between his thighs and squeezed through the thick material of his slacks, his face dropping to his desk like a stone. The surface was blessedly cool against his cheek as his breath melted against the wood. The pressure of his hand was both perfect and obscenely inadequate. His grip hardly gave the immediate surge of relief he had hoped for, but the sheer, mind melting torment abated the slightest bit, enough that he could suck in a proper lungful of air.  
  
A soft knock ripped him to attention, and he bolted upright in his chair with his fingers still caught around the painful shape of his arousal. "Yamato?"  
  
 _No_.  
  
Her voice was like a physical caress down his back. Even his erection throbbed between his fingers, as if the very sound of her call demanded a response that his body was all too eager to offer. Yamato's nails dragged harshly across the wood top of his desk. He went so still he ceased to breathe entirely. Not her. Anyone but her. Perhaps if he pretended not to be here, she would leave and look for him elsewhere.  
  
The slide of his door sent his stomach plunging down between his feet and snuffed out that dim hope as easily as a burning wick. He remained motionless even when her face came into view, her eyes wide and her eyebrows furrowed. "Yo- Yamato!” Hibiki stopped less than a foot into the threshold of the room, her hands reaching out for him until hesitation seemed to catch up with her. ”I- I'm so sorry, I thought you- Why didn't you answer me? Hinako said you might be injured. Are you okay?"  
  
Yamato opened his mouth to respond to her, but only silence tumbled out of it. What could he possibly say? He had to get her away from him as quickly as possible, and he had to do it without burning down the only bridge he'd ever cared to erect. She was the only one of that merry band of misfits who was worth a damn. There was a perfect spot for her at his right hand when he ushered in the first dawn of a new world. He could not possibly sacrifice that by screaming at her like an infant because he was embarrassed to be caught with his pants down. In a manner of speaking.  
  
But-  
  
His insides thrashed so hard it nauseated him, and he shoved both his palms to the desk. "You need to leave right now," he bit out, syllable by syllable, as carefully as he could when his throat was also trying to cage a snarl. Even as he said it, his body revolted. The very idea of her turning around and walking away sent despair slithering up between his ribs.  
  
Hibiki did not leave, but she did take a step back, her arms coming up higher and her hands clamping down on each of her biceps. "What? But- Listen, if you're hurt, I can help. I can try using my magic, or- or I can-"  
  
"No."  
  
For once, he found himself wishing she was as easily intimidated as the rest of the chattel scuttling around the facility. Anyone else would have been gone before he'd reached the fifth word.  
  
Not her. Of course not her. It was among the many reasons he had such respect for her. She was stubborn and capable and fearless, and he wanted her to be his partner. His equal. He wanted her to be...  
  
He wanted her to-  
  
Hibiki let go of her arms and frowned at him before she turned,  presenting her back to him. The sway of those ridiculous rabbit ears felt almost like a taunt. "Alright. I'll go get Otome."  
  
"No!"  
  
Before he could even consider an alternative, he was on his feet and moving, crossing his office and looming over her. His body did not feel like his own. He watched in horror as he thrust his hand out over her shoulder, invading her personal space and snapping the door shut with enough force to make her jump. Hibiki spun, jerking around in her surprise and flattening her back to the wood. He knew the instant she understood. Her eyes opened painfully wide. She actually gasped, even, and her cheeks blazed as if the very sight of him in such a shameful state was despoiling her innocence.  
  
Mortification poured into his stomach like lead, but he ignored it as hard as possible and grit his teeth again. Fuck, her hair smelled like coconuts.  
  
"What- what _happened_?" Her moment of shock done with, Hibiki discarded it in favor of action. Even now, she wasn't afraid. As grateful as he was that she wasn't looking at him like a wild beast threatening to forcibly mount her, he couldn't help but worry that her faith was misplaced.  
  
 _He wanted her._  
  
Yet more shame bubbled and hissed inside him, compounded by the pain that seized him now that he was back to neglecting it. He curled his hand into a fist above Hibiki's head and swallowed. "It is a curse. You need to leave. Please."  
  
Hibiki was eyeing him hard, but it was impossible not to notice the tiny little flicks of her irises begging to shoot downward, like it took every ounce of her resolve not to openly stare at him. Yamato could not even bring himself to be angry at her for it. Her eyes were so blue. Improbably blue, even, the same color he'd always imagined the ocean to be. If he allowed himself to drown in that gaze, perhaps it could swallow the flames licking at his face.  
  
Damn it, why was she not leaving?!  
  
"Hibiki-"  
  
She glared at him, standing up straighter and thrusting her chest out. "Don't kick me out! I'm trying my best to help you. I could try using Amrita, or-"  
  
"I already tried that."  
  
She deflated so quickly it would be comical if he weren't in the midst of torture. "Of course you did. Sorry. I- There has to be _something_ ," she asserted, her voice growing so firm as to suggest she thought she could will a solution into being. Yamato wished desperately that she could. "What can I do to help?"  
  
He fell silent again. The despair that cinched around his chest crushed him harder, a python squeeze that threatened to wring out every last bit of the oxygen still left in him. "...Nothing I could ask you for."  
  
This must be _her_ filthy influence. Here was his brilliant tactician, his civilian-turned-unlikely-star-of-JP’s. This was his Hibiki, and she had too fine a mind for him to stand here and admire something so gauche as the shape of her legs.  
  
A hand curled along the inside of his elbow and pushed gently. She took him so thoroughly by surprise that he loosened immediately, enough that she could push him away from the door and steer him back in the direction of his desk. "Then don't ask me," she said.  
  
"H- Hibiki?!" She must not have any idea what she was saying. Perhaps she was, somehow, even more naive than he was, and she hadn't actually understood the situation he was in. She could not possibly-  
  
Hibiki shoved him down into his chair, her hands tight around his shoulders and her face set in that familiar look of determination he'd observed so many times. "Look. What's the alternative? You have a fever I can feel from here. You're burning up. If you're not going to let Otome help, and it's not something you can fix yourself, then what are you going to do?"  
  
Stupidly, he sat there in silence. He was too distracted by the feeling of her hands pressing him down into the chair. She had never touched him before.  
  
He couldn't remember the last time anyone had.  
  
"Listen, Yamato."  
  
He did, snapping to attention in an overheated daze, meeting her pretty blue eyes and flexing both hands against his lap. She let go of his shoulders, and he came dangerously close to doing something as childish as putting her hands right back where they were. He refrained. Just barely.  
  
"I- really like you," she blurted, almost flinching away but then forcing herself to refocus on his eyes. "Please let me help. I want to.”  
  
She...liked him?  
  
How absurd. No one liked him, just like no one touched him. People listened to him. They obeyed him, generally. The closest he'd ever come to affection was Sako, and even she merely respected him. She didn't actively want to be in his presence. She didn't smile the way Hibiki did when he called her name. Her voice didn’t fill with delight when she recognized his own over the phone. She didn't turn towards him like a daisy in the sun every time he spoke to her. She didn't...  
  
 _like him._  
  
But Hibiki did. He found himself so out of sorts, he could not even begin formulating an appropriate response.  
  
She liked him and she wanted to 'help'. Even with something like this, an affliction so base and beneath her attention.  
  
He hadn't wanted help, but he had wanted relief, and just then, relief looked an awful lot like the pale milk of Hibiki's thighs. Without a word, he bobbed his head slowly, just once, a limp sliver of hair sticking to his cheek. Hibiki brushed it away, and a chill blossomed across his skin the same way icicles spread across glass. Her skin was so cool he wanted to press his face into her palm.  
  
He was not afforded the chance, however. She grasped the edges of his jacket and drew them apart slowly. His sleeves were eased down his arms with soft attention until his coat was left puddled around his hips. When he stood, it shifted and slid around him to the floor with a dull noise muffled by the carpet. The sound of his badges clinking together reminded him of chains hitting the ground.  
  
The last bit of his resolve snapped. "I'm sorry," he breathed, so low he doubted she could even hear him. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"What-"  
  
He grasped her hips and flipped her around, shoving blindly until the contents of his desk went flying. His keyboard slid across the wood and dangled haphazardly over the edge, leaving just enough room for Hibiki to sprawl across it. He pitched forward right behind her, his face pressed between her shoulder blades. Her hoodie was thick and plush beneath his face, but just then, when he felt close to bathing in his own sweat, 'plush' and 'thick' were not what he wanted.  
  
He groped to find the edge of it and yanked it off her, discarding it on top of his crumpled jacket.  
  
Her arms were bare beneath it. He’d never noticed before. That blue and white shirt sloped gently along each of her naked shoulders, climbing high around her slender neck but plunging low beneath her shorts.  
  
Her back heaved with every labored breath she took. He could feel the way it moved against his chest, could feel the grind of her backside where she tried to hold steady when she was bent so inelegantly over his desk. But she made no move to flee, or even to protest. She simply opened her hand, spreading her fingers wide, trembling a bit where she waited. Yamato couldn't hope to guess what she wanted. Maybe for him to hand her a pen so she could stab him with it.  
  
Hesitantly, he pushed his fingers to her palm. She gripped him tightly and breathed even harder. "It's okay," she said. "It's okay."  
  
It was not okay. How could she say such a thing? Or even think it? Nothing about this was okay. He was _better_ than this. She _deserved_ better than this. Better than some libidinous lech who assumed that flagellating himself to ribbons could possibly justify rutting against her like a dog.  
  
He clutched her hand, the only anchor keeping him from plummeting all the way down into hell. He bent her arm into a more comfortable position and pushed forward again, dragging his slick forehead against the blissfully cool skin of her shoulder. Blood rushed through his head so hard and fast that his vision swam beneath black spots until he could no longer see. He supposed he didn't need to. Rather than try, he squeezed his eyes shut and slid his fingers between her own.  
  
"It's okay," she said again.  
  
It would have to be.  
  
He took her at her word and shoved his free hand between them, tearing at his belt and popping the button of his fly. It was the fastest he'd ever undone his pants with only one hand. At this point, it'd been confined for so long that feeling cold air against the swollen skin almost stung, pinpricks of pain flooding up to his navel and then spreading down to his feet. As much as it hurt, he could do nothing but persevere when relief was, quite literally, only centimeters away.  
  
With just a bit more fumbling, he was able to free his erection. The heavy drop of it against the hard, thick seam of Hibiki's shorts almost made him black out, his knees buckling pathetically and his head thudding against her back.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
The clumsy, begrudging grip of his hand could never hope to feel anything like her. He pushed forward hard, his hips pinning hers to the edge of the desk. The friction of denim all along the underside of him sent pleasure roaring up the length of his body. He could not even fathom how much better her bare skin would feel.  
  
So he tried that next. His breath melted into the fabric of her shirt as he drew his hips back and cocked them sharply, shoving forward a second time and wedging himself between her thighs. He’d never felt anything softer than the insides of her smooth legs. He rocked between them back and forth, as desperate to feel the rough edge of the hems of her shorts dragging along the upper side as he was to feel the velvety embrace of her skin. Despite everything, despite him thrusting a torch of flesh between them, her thighs were gloriously cool. She was a goddess of frost beneath him, the only creature in this world who could douse the pyre of his infernal and unnatural lust.  
  
The last, insincere vestiges of his denial collapsed beneath him. The entire universe condensed to the sensation of her thighs around him, cold silk against his burning skin, a balm for the brutal pain that had him locked in its jaws for a small eternity.  
  
He had wished to find himself in the ninth circle of hell, but this alternative proved infinitely better.  
  
He wanted more. Without pause for thought, he wrenched the hem of her shirt out from beneath the waistband it was tucked beneath and pushed it high up her back, exposing yet more of her delicate skin. He wasted no time burying himself in the snowfield of her back, nuzzling at the shallow valley between her shoulder blades and breathing in the smell of salt and faintly floral soap.  
  
Yamato held her tighter, his thumb skating along the length of her own, all the way down to her smooth fingernail. It was all he could think to do when the sound of bone hammering wood reminded him that he was fucking her hard enough to bruise.  
  
He couldn't stop. No matter how good she felt, the heat only stoked to greater and greater heights, suffocating him from the inside out. Flames licked at his charred insides. His blood boiled so viciously, he feared Hibiki would start to liquefy beneath him. Frustration threatened to bubble from his throat. His eyes were wet and painfully hot. He needed it out of him. All of it.  
  
The inferno's core burned brighter and brighter, so much he was surely going to die right on top of Hibiki. He would immolate himself entirely trying to spill the seed of a curse between her waiting thighs.  
  
Orgasm exploded from him so violently it actually hurt. He gasped into Hibiki's back, both his legs going boneless. The last of his strength seemingly sapped from him too, Yamato tumbled backwards into his chair, panting hard and utterly incapable of looking at the mess he'd made of Hibiki. He was almost afraid that the shameful remnants of his curse would be black and hissing.  
  
Ultimately, he forced himself to look. Hibiki had pushed herself to her elbows, her breathing nearly as labored as his own. Her curls tumbled over one shoulder, and her skin was brightly pink. But to his infinite relief, her thighs were not steaming with acrid smoke. None of her was melting. She just looked slightly...wetter than usual. In fact, it was almost difficult to see that he'd ejaculated on her at all when she was so pale.  
  
What a ridiculous thought to have.  
  
"Are you...okay?" She pivoted on her arm and turned to face him, her bright blue eyes dipping downward before they snapped up towards his face instead. As deeply uncomfortable as it was to think she couldn't bring herself to so much as look at it, it was a strange sort of comfort that he didn't feel made into a spectacle. "Is it still...?"  
  
She swung around fully, her face positively luminescent. Her shirt was still rolled up above her breasts, gathered atop the gently sloping shelf they made and bunched beneath her arms. He looked away from them the instant he realized exactly where his attention had zeroed in, instead focusing on his lap.  
  
‘It’ certainly was still _ellipsis_. Yamato curled his lip down at it, contempt searing at the back of his throat. It looked even more vulgar than it normally did. It had swollen to his physical limits, the skin a livid red and with a faint dusting of purple where it had bruised. He could not blame her whatsoever for not wanting to name it, much less look at it.  
  
"Yes," he said, then swallowed.  
  
To his surprise, Hibiki did not look surprised. She looked very much like it was to be expected. She simply nodded and grasped the bunched up material looped around her ribs, tugging it overhead and tossing it into the mess already on the floor. "Alright. Let me try."  
  
"Wh- Hib-"  
  
She ignored him, sliding one knee into his chair and reaching for him with both her hands. Her balance was precarious, which she rectified by grasping at his bicep. The other hand moved towards his lap.  
  
The instant her chilled fingertips touched his skin, the oxygen rushed out of him without mercy. His back pushed hard into the chair, his head slamming backwards. It galled him that he would squirm with the dignity of a hooked worm, but for all that he feigned an attempted escape, his hands sought her out of their own accord. Her hips made for a rather spectacular set of handlebars.  
  
If Lilith's very gaze carried corruption, then Hibiki's touch offered divinity. Her grip was so delicate he hesitated to even describe it as one, the tips of her fingers gliding along the faint curve of his shaft. He muffled a sharp gasp into his palm before anyone else could claim to have heard it. Her thumb curled the slightest bit, hugging one side of it and dragging upward. She showed it more care than he had ever bothered to, and it left him feeling splintered and desperate for more.  
  
Her thumb reached the edge of one side and paused, rolling slightly at the ridge she found there. Hibiki was as inquisitive as she was gentle, her touch that of someone handling something utterly foreign for the first time. It was...illuminating. It was affirming, even, in a strange sort of way.  
  
It also left him insanely ravenous.  
  
He would never admit it, not even on his last dying breath, but the very idea that she would grace him with her first left a gaping ache within him that also demanded her last.  
  
Hesitantly, he cracked open one eye, consuming the sight of her pretty hand sweeping along the tip of his erection and sliding back down to the base. It was bizarrely alluring just looking at it. Her hands were so attractive, long and tapered, the pearly shine of her nails catching the normally dreary lighting of his office. He inhaled hard and fast, his breath hitching as her fingers circled him for a proper squeeze. Even now, he refused to moan. He’d sacrificed enough of his respectability without also subjecting Hibiki to animal noises. His jaw ached with the effort to contain it. His fingernails bit into heavy denim, and he pitched forward into her chest.  
  
By the gods, she somehow managed to be even softer here. Her breasts cradled the sides of his sweltering face, the ripe swells of them still kept at bay by her bra. Yamato had certainly never spared an idle thought towards the question of what her undergarments would look like, but if someone had asked him, he would not have guessed that they would be pink.  
  
Hibiki’s hand shifted, tightened and tugged upwards. He spasmed beneath her and clutched all the tighter, his arms winding around her waist with all the intent of a tourniquet. His attempts at restraint were for naught. As she stroked him again, a little tighter and a little faster, an undignified moan spilled from his mouth and into her cleavage. If nothing else, he was grateful she didn’t seem to mind that he had yet to remove his face from it. It seemed to swallow the noises she coaxed out of him with every uncertain pump of her arm.  
  
He found his hands gravitating up the rolling planes of her naked back. As the pads of his fingers traced the thin ridges of a strap, he was surprised to realize how annoyed he was it was there. His nails pressed a little harder, sweeping back and forth, perhaps hoping that an ‘accidental’ tug might send any clasps springing open purely by happenstance.  
  
It did not. He found nothing but an unbroken line of cotton, and another noise of dismay disappeared into her skin.  
  
An amused little titter stilled his questing fingers. Slowly, he tilted his head back. Hibiki’s hand disappeared from around his erection, and she leaned backwards where she was still balanced over his lap. “Here.” She reached for her sternum and unsnapped something between her breasts. Before he could be outraged by this deception, the pop of plastic distracted him thoroughly, and his attention was consumed by the shifting of cups.  
  
This must be how ignorant civilians felt when they witnessed some building purporting to be holy. She was flawless. Her bust was modest and beautifully shaped, the bottoms curved in such a way that looked like they would sit perfectly in his palm. He could see the faintest lightning strikes of blue beneath her skin. The peaks of her breasts were stiff and hard, and delicate shivers stole down her back where she was hovering over his knees. Never in all his life had he admired a body for reasons other than pure functionality.  
  
Hibiki was a work of art.  
  
Other idiots of his sex made so much more sense to him now.  
  
He swallowed the hard knot of coal in his throat and drew her closer to him, pulling her tight to his chest, his arms snaking around her middle. He could feel the trembles racing down her back all the better from here, feel the sharp press of her breasts and the subtlest ripple of gooseflesh. Perhaps it was less selfish than he’d imagined to pour this molten heat into her.  
  
Perhaps like this, wound together as tightly as a caduceus, they could reach a perfect equilibrium.  
  
Yamato dragged his lips flat against her sternum and squeezed tighter, bucking up into her body where his arousal ground against her abdomen. “Y- Yamato?” He could feel the uncertain flutter of her fingers where she touched lightly at his shoulders in question, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He held her much too close for her to touch him anymore.  
  
It hardly mattered. Every bit of her suited his purposes. He chased after the angle of her body, away from the sweet ravine between her breasts and up to her shoulder to press his cheek there instead. Like this, he could smell her hair. A perfect helix of curls brushed against the tip of his nose. It terrified him to think that he might never catch the scent of coconut again without growing aroused. God help him.  
  
More harshly than he’d intended, he yanked her by the hips, tucking her as snugly as he could into his lap. He could feel her fly cutting into the base of his erection, but the pressure was too exquisite to ignore. He held her steady, his arms taut and his hands framing the backs of her hips, when he began to move again.  
  
At least this way, he didn’t have to worry about hurting her. Yamato drove up into her, the length of his cock pushing flat against her navel. He could feel the give of her breasts against his chest with each thrust, and it was so wildly attractive as to be maddening. It didn’t seem to matter where he touched when all of her could allay the need that ravaged him so thoroughly.  
  
Only her voice could shatter the thrall that gripped him -- which it did, jarring him from the fog of lust that had him so addled. “Isn’t it hurting you?”  
  
She eased him back gently. His fingers jerked againt the small of her back, but he managed not to scramble for more of her like a neanderthal. It helped that she was going for her shorts, the slightest tremor visible in her hands. Hibiki worked her button from its hole and nudged her zipper down.  
  
She was blushing when he looked back up at her. From her cheeks all the way down to the tops of her breasts, she was dappled as pink as her bra. But still she didn’t stop, lifting herself high on her knees and dragging her shorts down her thighs. “Here. It’s cutting into you.” As if to prove as much, she pushed her thumb along the underside of his erection where he could feel her stroke at a zipper-shaped indentation punched into his skin.  
  
He could admit that her idea was better. Much better. So much so he clawed his fingers into her shorts and yanked them around her knees, then down around them and onto the floor, only pausing to tug both her shoes off. “Does that feel better?”  
  
Yamato no longer had the mental faculties to scrape together a response. He simply pulled her back down into his lap, crushing her to his torso and relishing in the sensation of paper thin cotton and silky skin and not a hint of jagged metal teeth in sight.  
  
It was both better and worse. The unholy chafe of denim was gone, but now he could feel the velvety heat he’d siphoned into her bleeding right back into him. Every single drag of his erection let him feel the shape of her through the scrap of underwear stretched around her hips, and every one of them sparked up his spine.  
  
Any semblance of control he’d managed to scrabble together scattered like ash in the wind. His back rolled, peeling up from the chair and lifting her smaller body into the air. She almost tumbled forward into his chest, her hands slamming outward and gripping his shoulders, her thighs shaking around him and her knees barely touching the chair.  
  
It was perfect. He anchored her hips between his hands and moved blindly, grinding his cock up between her legs. She swayed with his thrusts, her breasts bouncing and grazing against his skin, the teasing caress of them making his nerves fucking sizzle.  
  
Something constricted inside him with a vengeance, his skin seeming to tighten and let loose in a second. He came even harder than the first time, a sharp gasp and his orgasm bursting out of him in the exact same moment.  
  
He went limp beneath her. His body crumpled into his chair where he panted with the disproportionate need of someone who had actually earned that level of exhaustion. After all this, it seemed doubtful he’d ever achieve an erection again. He wasn’t sure he’d mind, either. Not unless Hibiki expressed interest in a repeat performance.  
  
Though he couldn’t imagine why she would. He had desecrated her now not once, but _twice_. Sordid bands of white striped the length of her torso, even dotting the crease of her breast. He was a complete disgrace, and if she refused to ever speak to him again, he hadn’t the least bit of room to argue.  
  
Bizarrely, she wasn’t climbing off him to gather her things and then backhand him as he so deserved. Instead, she was moving closer, her breaths coming quick and thin. He could feel the tiniest flickers of her fingernails where she plucked at the buttons of his oxford and opened it. “You’re going to want to wash that.” She did the same for his tie, working her nail into the knot and nudging it down and down, finally slipping it from around his neck. It aggravated him to no end that he’d spent the last twenty minutes roasting to death, and he hadn’t had the mental fortitude to just finish undressing.  
  
Fortunately, the back of Hibiki’s icy hand brushed across his cheek and brought him back to the dimmest of awareness. He opened his eyes and rolled his head for more of her touch, chasing the chill as she frowned at him. “You’re still crazy hot. Are you okay now? Or…”  
  
Without moving his head, Yamato glanced downward. He’d just subjected Hibiki to a truly appalling amount of ejaculate, yet still his erection was unflagging, upright to an almost spiteful degree. How?! How could it possibly be this hard, after everything? How much lower could he possibly prostrate himself?  
  
Oblivious to his internal fit, Hibiki took another soft breath. She fell still above him, perched at the edge of his knees and clutching his shoulders. Whatever debate she was having with herself only took a few seconds, but a few seconds was more than enough time to wish for death when one of your appendages was at war with all the rest of them. He felt perilously close to begging for her touch when she moved, slipping out of his lap and coming to a shaky stand before him.  
  
When her thumbs slid beneath the hems of her panties, his stomach dropped so low it disappeared. At this point, the entire situation seemed like a fever dream. This was all some deviant conjuring of his own mind, a last-ditch attempt to trick him into believing he had _feelings_ like the commoners -- or a test to prove he didn’t. It was simply too absurd to believe that any of this had a place in the reality he knew.  
  
He’d almost convinced himself when his eyes focused on her, and he blinked slowly, sweat stinging at his heavy eyelids. There were carrots on her underwear. Little cartoonish carrot pictures that punctuated the white material, some of them with exaggerated bite marks taken out of them.  
  
He didn’t even know they made underwear like that. Why were civilians so ridiculous? And why did something so stupid strike him as endearing and more than a little bit appealing?  
  
Hibiki wasn’t looking at him, too preoccupied with leaning forward and sliding those goofy panties down her thighs. The stretch of them, pulled taut around the thickest part of her legs, cut indents into her skin that made his heart stop beating. Part of him felt compelled to help her take them off, but the rest of him was frozen into place, not daring to touch her and break the spell. She was so beautiful. He’d never found anything beautiful before; not in the generally accepted sense of the word. Efficiency was beautiful. Ambition was beautiful, just like the sort of idealism that stripped back the ugly veneer of humanity and proved how much better it could be. The future he strived for was beautiful.  
  
The sight of Hibiki bent over, stepping out of her panties one leg at a time, was beautiful. By now her blush had reached a fever pitch, pink charred to a strawberry red that touched even the tips of her ears. He’d known this woman such a short time, but he was confident she’d never looked more shy than she did now.  
  
Hastily, she dropped into his lap with a thud that bounced his office chair beneath them both. “Third time’s a charm?” she whispered.  
  
His ability to respond was wanting. She’d lifted her hips again, her legs framing his own and forced apart because of it. The fragile skin of her labia seared a long line of ecstasy into his skin, only stopping once she was poised just above the tip of his erection. It was little wonder he couldn’t speak, especially when he realized that something viscous and hot was sliding down the head of his cock.  
  
She was... _aroused_. An almost wild look seized him as his hands grappled for her hips, his eyes roving across her flushed face. Her eyes, normally an electric blue that monopolized his attention so easily, looked somehow darker. The heave of her chest was mesmerizing, and her thighs shook in a way that suggested more than a draft had sunk its way into her.  
  
His mind roared with emptiness, as heavy and silent as the vacuum of space. If he’d settled into a dull simmer in that small gap of breathless time, the heat came blazing back with a vengeance, his very heart a supernova that pumped fire into his veins.  
  
It was all he could do not to jackhammer into her. He pushed down on her hips with one hand, the other sliding down to grip himself by the base and hold it steady. Hibiki’s knuckles were white on the arms of the chair, her eyes squeezed shut and her chest straining with the breath she held in it. Yamato wished so badly to comfort her, but he was inept at offering comfort to the extent of being incapable of it.  
  
The embrace of her body was so tight and so hot it overwhelmed him. Ecstasy consumed him inch by glorious inch, the heat and pressure close to punishing. For a dizzying moment, he thought he might pull out of her and find the shape of his arousal immortalized in diamond.  
  
Her arms locking around his neck distracted him from his delirious musings easily enough. He grasped her naked back, her long, black curls brushing sweetly across his knuckles. No one had ever embraced him before. Nor he anyone else, for that matter. It was unexpectedly intuitive to hold her like this, doing his level best to offer any modicum of reassurance he could when she’d made herself as physically vulnerable to him as it was possible to be. Her breathing was ragged and hot in his ear where she’d hidden her face in his hair, and every tremble of her body shot up his arms.  
  
Yamato responded by pressing his lips to her shoulder and breathing her in. He was dying to just move, but even in the throes of this manic frenzy of need, he refused to hurt her. Carefully, he shuffled his hips beneath her, a harsh gasp erupting from him before he could swallow it back down. She even gasped back at him, her fingers grasping at the roots of his hair and holding on tight. It was the jolt of confidence he hadn’t realized he needed. He rolled his palm along the sweat-dappled dip of her back and pushed her harder against him, thrusting up into her and jarring another heady moan from deep inside her chest. That she liked it too was a far more satisfying rush of relief than even that initial thrust between her thighs.  
  
The idea that this might end in something other than a total tragedy buoyed him. One hand shot up to cradle the back of Hibiki’s skull, his fingers tangled in the mess of curls at her neck. The other remained firmly at her hip, his thumb folded perfectly in the nexus between it and her thigh. Being able to push her down further over his cock was ridiculously gratifying.  
  
He tilted his head, following the curve of her shoulder until his nose brushed the side of her neck. She was still quivering in his lap, but the tension had eased from her the slightest bit. In fact, she went so far as to move without the insistent plea of his hand guiding her. Her knees dug in with a squeak of leather, and she glided her way upwards, both her thighs clenching and a lurid sigh easing out of her throat. He wanted so badly for her to feel good. He wanted her not to hate him after this was all said and done and the sanity she’d so clearly mislaid was returned to her.  
  
He wanted to make her come.  
  
She didn’t make it far before she dropped back into his lap, her backside bumping against his thighs, but it was blissful all the same. The hand coursing through her curls skated down her back, his fingertips bumping along each ridge of her spine. This time when she moved, Yamato followed her lead, drawing his hips back as far as he could.  
  
The crash of their bodies meeting in the middle was paralyzing. Electric shocks of pleasure fried a path through his nerves, his fingers locked into place around the delicate bones of her hips. He did it again and again, every shattered cry she made exploding through his insides like fireworks. It was damn near impossible for him to get enough of a hold on himself to try scrambling for every minuscule scrap of the sexual education he hadn’t been allowed to refuse.  
  
One of his hands let go of her, moving instead towards her abdomen. He groped clumsily with sweat slick fingers, stroking at curly hair that parted beneath his touch. He didn’t have the faintest idea what he was looking for. At least, not until his fingertips nudged something that made Hibiki buck in his lap, her fingers going savagely tight in his hair and her arms pulling his face down against her chest.  
  
Her body churned around him. It tightened like a vice, almost pulsing in time with the heartbeat he could feel throbbing against his cheek. He drew his fingers away and used his thumb instead, pressing forward and then up.  
  
This time when she squeezed, his vision went white as the sun. His hips lifted Hibiki up off the chair yet again, his orgasm flooding into her. Yamato rode out every second of it with his face tucked into her cleavage. Only when the very last drop of it drained from him did he tip back into the chair so hard it rolled backwards a few centimeters, Hibiki still gathered up in his lap and her body wracked with shivers.

Neither of them moved for their own personal eternity. It took long enough just to catch his breath that moving seemed too monumental a task to attempt. It wasn’t until he started to chafe that he realized he was still wedged inside Hibiki’s body, and he was quick to wrap his arm beneath her and lift her up off his abused cock.  
  
“H- Hibiki?”  
  
The longer he sat there, the more aware he grew of exactly what he’d done.  
  
He’d just _taken_ her. On his desk. In his office. With the door unlocked.  
  
“...Hibiki, I-” The words dried up in his throat as she sat back to meet his gaze, her pupils still blown wide and her skin flushed. “I- Words cannot hope to-”  
  
She made a face at him and jammed a finger to his mouth, taking him so thoroughly by surprise he snapped his lips shut immediately.  
  
“Shh. Don’t. Don’t apologize, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”  
  
How she could be so composed after all that shamed him to his core. She rearranged herself in his lap, blushing even brighter and closing her legs. Perhaps not _that_ composed.  
  
“But-” She wrinkled her nose at him, but before she could interrupt him again, Yamato grasped at her wrist. “That was...you’ve never…” Eugh, it rankled him to no end that he’d just ravaged her and he couldn’t even summon the courage to verbalize it. “...You’ve never had sex before.”  
  
Whatever she thought he was going to say, it very obviously was not that. Hibiki’s eyes popped open wide, and she burned a sugary pink yet again. “I- no. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”  
  
A tidal wave of guilt swept over him. He’d just taken her virginity. She deserved more than an apology for being brutalized in such a way, and by such a person as him.  
  
As he’d feared, Hibiki didn’t respond immediately. She looked uncomfortable now, no doubt finally coming to terms with just what he’d done to her. After a few painful seconds, she peeked back up at his eyes and rubbed at her bicep, her face pulled somewhere between uncertain and a little bashful. “Well...do you really want to make it up to me?”  
  
“Yes, of course.”  
  
The smile she gave him did embarrassing things to his chest. She shifted once again and held her hand out, hesitating before she let it rest against his chest. “...Would you kiss me?”  
  
Yamato froze. She wanted that? He had anticipated her asking if JP’s had any memory depressants after that. He thought she’d ask him to pretend that none of it had happened and it was some collective hallucination. But no. She wanted something so intimate? From him?  
  
Intimate. As if he hadn’t just bent her over his desk like an absolute savage. He came on her and _in_ her. Why did the idea of a kiss feel even more vulnerable?  
  
Slowly, he nodded, a slightly inelegant jerk of his head that belied the nervousness he was trying so hard to stamp down. He tilted forward, his nerves jangling and his heart beating so hard he could hear blood in his ears. A kiss was the least he owed her.  
  
Hibiki’s lips curled into another smile that made what remained of his stomach somersault dangerously. She leaned closer to him, her head tilted, the hand on him grazing higher up his chest and fastening around his shoulder. Ultimately, she was the one to kiss him, closing the distance between them. Her lips were as soft as the rest of her, though he’d hesitate to describe them as yielding.  
  
It was only a few seconds, but they were among the most meaningful few seconds he’d ever experienced. Before she could pull away, his hand lifted and cupped the side of her face. Her hair tumbled in silky waves against his fingers.  
  
“So…”  
  
Yamato blinked and looked back at her. She was sitting further back on his knees, both her hands resting lightly against his abdomen. “You never said what happened. I know you said it was a curse, but that was it.”  
  
“Ah.” He frowned mildly. “I encountered Lilith.”  
  
“Wow!” Shock alit over her pale face again. “Really? I can’t believe you got away. We ran into her, but we had to hightail it out of there. She was way too strong, and she kept trying to make Daichi her love slave or something. I had to use Amrita like three times before we finally left.”  
  
Of course she did. Yamato would not deign to roll his eyes, but if there was ever a moment, it would be that one. Instead, he scoffed. “I would expect nothing less of Shijima.”  
  
Hibiki bit her lip, hiding a crooked little smile before her shoulders bounced. “Well, Daichi aside, she had this whole harem of guys who were charmed. She kept claiming she could make any man want to do anything for her. Even Daichi was obsessed with her when he got hit with the charm. How were you able escape?”  
  
A cold sweat swept across his back.  
  
It had not even occurred to him to wonder. In his arrogance, he had presumed he was simply above the other weak-minded men who were so easily led by their...anatomy. That he was accustomed to demons of Lilith’s ilk. That he was not nearly so susceptible to matters of the flesh.  
  
It was only now, in the face of her extremely reasonable question, that he was reminded of one of the few existing methods to thwart a curse as strong as Lilith’s.  
  
A particularly strong infatuation with someone else.  
  
 _God help him._


End file.
